“You’re so hard on yourself. Take a moment. Sit back. Marvel at your life: at the grief that softened you, at the heartache that made you wiser, at the suffering that strengthened you. Despite everything you still grow. Be proud of this.”
Book Accurate Dandelion haunts me bc Joey is absolutely a delight acting-wise but damn, seeing him blonde would make me scream in joy of finally some actual book accuracy in appearance
'Write a story about a place that no longer exists' - A Reedsy Writing Prompt
It's been almost a year since I subscribed to that writing blog called Reedsy and I suppose it is high time I started using their writing prompt emails so anyways here y'all go
'Find a pensive dragon and ask; is this the Path to the realm of Elland-dur?'
It has been said and told, told and said, that this world did not always look the way it does now; that there have been Resets; times three.
Before the Second Great Fall, when creatures of monstrous and great Stature rode alongside humans and their fire-breathing, war-bred stallions, stood the noble realm of Ellan-dur. It is more likely than it is not, that you all have heard of some variation or another of that name; Ellander, Ellandor or so on and so forth. It is of no matter, no real consequence, which name you use, exactly because your mind will reject the reasoning that it all refers to the exact same place.
And yet, your hearts will already-and always-know.
There is nothing to be gained by this tale, nothing at all by this knowledge. But Souls circle, in Dance Eternal in the grander realms of matter, particles and laws of Physics. Have you never wondered why some people seem to get these absurdly difficult math types, seem to have an inherent wisdom about what does and what does not consitute the Bounds of Reason?
These people are the products of their Age; the products of their World, where a Reset seems as insane of a notion as the existence of Magicks and Hexes and Jinxes.
If however, the Magick calls to you instead of Reason, then chances are, you once belonged to the learned and wise dwellers of Ellan-dur. The Fires Eternal, the Blood and Wine of the Birth, it all resonates, clearer and stronger than any math form, diagram or type.
But Reason is no Enemy of Magick, no enemy of the Ellan-durian, for they know one cannot exist without the other.
Long gone are the Days when the Hallowed Blood flowed through the Noble Sovereign of Ellan-dur and its loss led to its downfall, and eventual erasure of all modern memory; no traces left of the spiralling minarets reaching for the heavens, covered in diamond-studded moss; no traces of the Lemuriarn artistry of their jewels left to witness, of beauty so radiant lesser men had lost all sense at their sight. That is a tale for another time.
For Ellan-dur is no more; the Thyme-Burners to the Mother no loger burn; the shadow of its last monarch locked itself in the body of a bird of prey, unnable to sing of the loss, but only cry for wrath.
So, dear reader, should alive eyes be looking at this scroll, look for a Dragon; do not be discouraged at the lack of scales or cat-slinted eyes; make them Think. Then and only then, ask for directions to the Ruins.
The time will come
when, with elation,
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror,
and each will smile at the other’s welcome,
and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you
all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.
Derek Walcott, "Love after Love" (January 23, 1930–March 17, 2017)
Such a love for flowers I never expected to find, not within me.
Why do I dream of flower crowns upon my head, under a scorching sun?
Of open fields next, golden and soft, and a sweet, putridly sweet gaze locking with my own?
But I cut my own flowers,
tear them apart from their roots.
I will make myself the crown; and there is no need to look for softeness, for there is none.
That is no evil. It is simply … there.
What is another bloody cup to a wolven feast?
But the Gods know I would love nothing more than to be handed a flower and be told nothing;
'A flower for my Lady of Swords'
The stem will hold, and the petals will not wither away as fast as the honeyed words will.
Honey made from sugar goes bad.
Alas, I can write no more; not that the well of my love for words has gone dry, but rather the one of hope has.
The stupid thing refuses to die; and thus my hand is stayed.
24/4/25, original poem by me. Loved that piece of the Blood and Wine DLC OST and somehow it tied perfectly together with the events that inspired that little piece.
Just started reading Sherlock Holmes and all the adaptations are wrong. This man is a delight. He gets excited about hemoglobin and is ecstatic at the thought of Watson as a roommate. He purposefully forgets how the solar system works so he has more room in his brain for crime. He shows Watson the dirt stains on his trousers and he can tell what part of London they come from based on color and consistency. (As far as i can tell Watson didn't ask, Sherlock just gets back from walks and tells Watson about the stains unprompted.) The text specifically says "Holmes was certainly not a difficult man to live with." Why does every adaptation make him unpleasant and rude, he's literally just eccentric. He's such a goober, I love him.
I have been saying that for years to my irl fellow Holmes appreiator only to look at me weirdly; he is eccentric and sometimes plain weird but I distinctly remember quite a few times where, throughout the books, his politeness was exceptionally suited to the situations at hand as well as his kindness, and not fake niceness. Eccentric doesn't equal rude or unpleasant, not horizontally; it is strange and more indicative of societal perceptions of truly unique individuals that he is so often portrayed this way. Apparently it is unfathomable to be unique and yet not fit neatly into the box for 'uniqueness'. The strangeness lies in the fact that somewhere along the way, society decided that weird equals rude; no other possibilities accepted. At least, that's a partly explanation for all of these wrong adaptations.
AFTER YEARS OF TORTURE I CAN FINALLY SIT DOWN AND WRITE MY STUPID FANDOM OPINIONS ON A WORKING PIECE OF TECHNOLOGY (in all honesty, they all end up reading like minor treatises on ethics or loosely medieval inspired morality plays but whatever).
It's very funny how i introduced people to this hellsite but then I literally fucked off for more than a year AT THAT. Been through a lot of shit but I guess I am back? Y'all may come to regret it but here i am now lol
p.s. i have been through a Witcher hyperfixation since the end of February along with other minor fandoms like the one of my poor vampire Constantia and her idiot of a son that I have been torturing for entertainment since 2022 but oh well. I have written essays on Blood and Wine and Hearts of Stone DLCS AND BY MELITELE'S TITS THAT'LL BE EVERYONE'S PROBLEM.
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